Christian poetry & essays about one woman's faith walk.

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Watch his mother stoke his face
His father count his tiny toes
See his mother hold him close
His father hold his wee small hand.
Between them they will bathe their child
His mother wrap him in swaddling clothes
The moment they’d waited for at last here
Such a Holy event so long foretold
The Sacrificial Lamb among earth’s inhabitants
Everything with breath should pause
The Messiah has at long last come!

Watch his mother stroke his face
While rain runs red with blood
Hear his mother and friends in grief
While once angry mob run from the storm.
His friends hurry forth to take his body
Haste to prepare him for the borrowed tomb
Tender fingers touch his wounds
The ripped open stripes from the flog
Holes in his head from cruel thorns
And hearts break at the awful, jarring sight
Damage stakes driven into human flesh did make.
See the sorrow weigh deeply on each heart
Son, brother, friend, king now gone.

See His friends come through morning’s mist
To finish preparing Him for final rest
The rock they feared already moved aside
Is now a place where angels sit.
Inside the tomb where death once reigned
Christ has defied the cords of the grave.
When He appears see His mother seek His face
Her baby born in Bethlehem He still was
God who came wrapped in human flesh
Who willingly died for the sins of all.
Watch His mother, eyes cast upward
To follow Him ascension beyond the clouds.
Turn your eyes to the East for there He comes again.
d.f.a.v. 12/19/14—Donna